


Necromancer

by orphan_account



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Flower Shop, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Dogs, Flowers, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Ghosts, M/M, Necromancy, Paranormal, Slow Burn, You'll see what I mean, eren's seventeen, levi has a dog anyway, levi's eighteen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-15
Packaged: 2018-11-13 14:45:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11187324
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: After his mother's passing, Levi inherits the flower shop he grew up in. It's not easy dealing with the heartbreak and loneliness of her death on top of the responsibility of running a store, but after a few months, he soon falls into a semi-comfortable routine. Life seems to be returning to normal - at least, the new normal - until it becomes apparent that Levi isn't quite as alone as he thought he was.





	1. Seattle

“How much is one of them rose bo-quets?”

 _Fuck_.

“Bouquets, sir?”

“Yeah, how much for one of ‘em?”

“For a dozen, it'll be about forty-five, give or take. Would you like to - “

“Forty-five? For a dozen?”

 _Fuuuck_.

“Yes, sir. Three fifty per stem, plus filler and - “

“Listen, kid, if you think you're gonna over-charge me for some damn flowers - “

Patience is a virtue, count to ten.

 _One_.

“I’m not overcharging - “

 _Two_.

“Where's the manager?”

 _Three_.

“I am the fucking manager!”

 _Four_.

“Who lets a damn kid like you run a business?”

 _Five_.

“My mother,” I spat. “Now get the hell out of my store.”

 _Six_.

“Fuck your store.”

 _I never make it to ten,_ I observed as the man hobbled out of the front door and slammed it behind him, earning tongue-clicks and excited murmurs from the rest of the customers.

Don’t get me wrong. It wasn't that I didn’t like my job, it's just that the customers were, more often than not, insufferable pricks. A bit ironic, considering they're there to buy flowers for their spouses or ill relatives - I mean, supposedly, it takes a compassionate person to do that. That's the problem with people; they suppose things. Sort of like how they supposed I wasn't the manager, or that I'd charge fifty cents per flower, or that they could get a discount because their child ‘is dying as we speak - no, really!’

I mean, I would’ve loved to, but if I gave a half dozen free flowers to every grieving mother then I’d have gone out of business in a heartbeat. Though that's not to say I didn’t occasionally stick a couple extra white roses into their vase when they weren’t looking and take a dollar or two off their total.

It's what Mom would've done - what she would've wanted me to do. It was only right that I carried on her tradition. Mom, however, would never have let her marigolds wither and daisies droop, which was exactly what I found them doing a couple months after I inherited the damn place.

It shouldn't have come as a surprise to me, to see all those dead and dying flowers - I did tend to kill everything I touched, so why should plants be any different? - but it did. They hadn't died overnight, though I didn't seem to really notice them until I opened the shop one chilly morning.

I shuffled down my creaking apartment stairs, tea in hand, to the cheerful red door at the bottom of the stairwell that opened to the shop. The door never seemed so obnoxious before - I used to like the color - but people change, I guess, and so do circumstances. My hand hesitated for a half-second before opening it. It felt wrong to be strolling into the store like I owned the place - even when I did, technically, own the place. At least, now I did. It would always be Mom’s store in my mind; and in my heart, if you care for cliche bullshit like that.

But, as I'd done the past sixty-three days, I swallowed my guilt and pushed the door open.

 _Maybe it can be symbolic,_ I thought as I made my way to the front window. _An open door, a new beginning…_

Any hopeful metaphor I'd been conjuring up immediately dissipated after a glance outside.

It appeared Seattle had been blessed by yet another dull day, judging by the grey that enveloped the downtown buildings outside. I didn't mind the rain, but I wouldn't mind some damn variety in the weather either. It seemed like it never changed, and the the clouds became repetitive. Mundane. Constant. Just like everything else.

Maybe the dullness wouldn't be so dull if I didn't have to wait it out alone - but that was another hopeless cliche, so I pushed the thought away and hung the ‘open’ sign on the windowed door.

That was what had become my morning routine; wake up, make tea, head down to the shop, look out the window, contemplate my sad existence, water plants -

Water plants. Shit.

I surveyed the plants hanging from the ceiling and arranged on windowsills and shelves - only to find the majority of them brown and wilted, sitting in piles of their own dead leaves. If plants were sentient, they'd probably have been embarrassed to be in such a state. I felt a little bad for letting them get into that shape - but I never was a gardener, much less a good one. Even so, I wasn’t sure how they’d died without me noticing, or how I’d been getting customers with a shop full of dead flowers.

Whatever. If they’d died overnight then maybe they’d come back to life overnight. Indecisive fucking flowers.

 -

The rest of that day passed quietly with me sipping tea behind the register, despondently scrolling through whatever the internet had to offer, interrupted only by the occasional cranky customer come to buy one of few remaining living bouquets. I made a mental note to research a remedy for the sick flowers as I headed back up the stairs at the end of the day - and then another mental note to _actually do it_ and not just _think_ about doing it.

And so that was the end of it. At least, that’s what I thought, until that night when I was awoken by what sounded like an atomic bomb being dropped directly onto my eardrum. That’s what I would’ve assumed it was, if not for the city lights outside illuminating my bedroom. There was no atomic bomb - in fact, there was no anything, which meant the sound had come from down-fucking-stairs.

“Who the fuck robs a _flower shop,_ ” I huffed as I threw a shirt on and hurried downstairs, baseball-bat in hand.

But there was no murderer or thief that I could see. The sight that greeted me was an entire display table that had toppled - or been knocked - over, leaving dead roses strewn across the floor and their glass vases shattered. I might have preferred to be face-to-face with a criminal, really, but I opted to temporarily ignore that issue and search the rest of the store. It was seemingly untouched, nothing out of place - and I would have known if even a single petal was missing. The door was locked and bolted, as were the windows.

Locked and bolted. The windows weren’t broken, the door wasn’t bashed in. All possible points of entry were secured, locked, and bolted. Completely, totally, one hundred percent secured. I dropped the bat and ran my hands through my hair - it didn’t make sense. No one could’ve broken in - no one did break in - but how did the display fall over? I sure as hell didn’t do it.

“Uh,” I looked around the aisles and counters. “Is anyone there?”

Silence, as usual.

“Hello?” I repeated.

Nothing.

“Okay,” I said, a bit louder - and a bit angrier - so that my voice echoed. “If anyone’s there, then stop fucking my store up, okay?”

And so, with that, I grabbed my baseball bat and begrudgingly returned to my not-so-peaceful sleep. _That_ was the end of it, for sure. I’d wake up in the morning, clean up the mess, and return to my uncomfortable routine. No more shattered vases, no more toppled display tables - and definitely no more waking up at ungodly hours.

Oh, if wishes were fishes.


	2. Visitors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was no solid evidence of a break-in - but what other answer was there? Vivid hallucinations? Magic? Ghosts?

When I woke the next morning, there was no mess to clean. 

It was  _ almost _ a relief. I rolled out of bed, got dressed, made my tea, and went about my morning business as usual - completely forgetting anything at all had happened last night, as everything in the shop seemed completely normal. Every flower was perfectly arranged, every table and shelf sat in their proper places. I sunk into the uncomfortable chair behind the register and took a moment to admire the tidiness of it all. It wasn’t often I got to relax about the state of things. 

 It was almost _too_ comfortable. 

 The chaos of last night came flooding back into my memory all at once - the crash, the toppled display, the broken glass, the dead flowers - and yet, none of that mess was anywhere to be seen. I couldn’t have dreamt it - it was far too vivid, too complicated, not to mention I was still wearing the shirt I’d thrown on during the midst of it all.

 Nothing was adding up. It was all wrong. Rather, it was all _right_ \- and _that_ was all wrong. The flowers miraculously came back to life overnight. The rose display was tidied up perfectly and the broken glass was gone. There was no solid evidence of a break-in - but what other answer was there? Vivid hallucinations? Magic? Ghosts?

Whatever it was, it was the last thing I felt like dealing with on top of everything else.

 

 

It wasn’t long after that that I decided to open the shop for the day - and it wasn’t long after opening the shop for the day that a loud, obnoxious, familiar voice interrupted my work.

 “Good morning, Hanji,” I said nonchalantly. I kind of wanted to hug her for visiting and putting a temporary end to my loneliness - but she’d have a fit if she knew that, so I - as usual - brushed those feelings under a rug of unenthusiasm. It was easier that way. Probably safer, too. I loved her, sure - how couldn’t I, after knowing her for so long? - but I’d be lying if I said she wasn’t overbearing at times. And by ‘at times,’ I mean ‘all the fucking time with no exceptions.’

 “Levi! Good morning!” She flashed me a smile and clapped her hands together. “It’s good to see you again! How’ve you been? Good?”

 “I - “

 Her cheerful expression was quickly replaced by a guilty one. “Oh my God, no, of _course_ you haven’t been good - what a stupid question, I’m so sorry I - “

 “Fuck’s sake, Hanji, calm down.” I sighed, exhausted already. “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.”

  _“Not a big deal?”_

 “Yeah - I mean, it _is_ a big deal, but I’m fine. I’m handling it. It’s fine.” I said. She shot me a skeptical look, but it wasn’t a total lie - I was handling it, after all. Maybe not very well, but I _was_ handling it. 

 “If you say so, but I’ve got my eye on you - “ she pointed at her eyes, then to mine - “so you better tell me if something’s wrong.”

 “I’m _fine_ ,” I insisted. “Now are you gonna give me my dog back, or what?”

 “Oh, right! Toby! He’s been great company, but I figured you’d be missing him - unless, of course, you don’t want him, in which case I’d be glad to take him off your hands - “

 “Give me my damn dog, Hanji.”

 “Okay, okay, just making sure!” She giggled and threw her hands in the air before turning to the door. “Be back in a sec, I left him in the car in case you - you know, changed your mind.”

 She returned moments later, dog in hand. “Poor guy couldn’t get up the step,” she huffed as she sat him down. “Can’t blame him, really.”

 I chuckled and tried to hide my smile as he wagged his tail and trotted behind the counter to sit at my feet. Hanji and I both agreed it would be best for her to take care of him while I dealt with Mom’s funeral and the mandatory bullshit paperwork, but I didn’t think I’d miss him so much. I guess I didn’t think I’d miss Mom so much either, but humans have a way of taking things for granted.

 “Thanks for watching him,” I said as I bent down to run my fingers through the curls in his fur.

 “I’d watch him for the rest of my life if I could! I think he likes it better with me, anyway,” She leaned over the counter to look at him. “Isn’t that right, Toby?”

 I rolled my eyes at her tone. “Don’t talk to him like that.”

 “Like what?”

“Like he’s a baby or some shit.”

She stifled a laugh and raised an eyebrow at me. “How do  _ you _ talk to dogs?”

“I talk to  _ my _ dog like an adult, obviously. In dog years, he’s older than you. It’s like if a toddler walked up to you and started cooing at you - it’s weird.”

_ “You’re _ weird.”

I shrugged. “I’m inclined to agree with you, after what’s been going on lately.”

“Oh?” She quirked an eyebrow in curiosity. “What might that be?”

“Just weird shit. I think I’m going crazy - or maybe everything else is going crazy - I can’t tell anymore.”

I could practically see the light bulb light up over her head - it left me with a mere second to brace myself for the onslaught of questions. “Oh! Are you having hallucinations? Dizzy spells? Unexplained lapses in judgement? Have you noticed any changes in your sleeping patterns or memory loss? Is - “

_ “No, _ Hanji,” I cut her off. “It’s not like that. It’s just weird shit - not medically weird shit, just… I don’t know.” I absent-mindedly rolled a pencil back and forth on the countertop as I recalled the events. “I don’t have any explanation for it - yesterday, every goddamn flower in the shop was dead or dying, and look at them now.” I waved a hand at the shelves upon shelves of vibrant flowers. “It’s like they came back to life overnight.”

“Are you  _ sure _ they were dead?” She asked, eyes squinted. “Stress-induced hallucinations can be  _ very _ vivid, and that’s not out of the question for you - “

“No, no, it’s different.” I shook my head. “I  _ know  _ they were dead, and that’s not the only thing.”

I went on to explain, in brief, the events of the previous night and how everything was back in order when I woke up hours later. She listened quietly with wide eyes throughout what must have sounded like psychotic rambling, coming from me. I’ll be damned if she didn’t drive me up the wall most of the time, but she was always a good listener when you could get her to shut up. 

“ - and I don’t have any answers,” I finished. “I don’t know if I should be buying prescription pills or a security system.”

There was silence between us for a few moments before she spoke up. “It sounds to me like you have an anonymous friend. Wait - “ She faltered; she must’ve known I was about to roll my eyes again. “Hear me out. You killed the flowers, obviously, so someone - a customer, maybe - saw you fretting over it, so they decided to come take care of them while you slept.  _ But,  _ they accidentally knocked the table over and fled the scene before you caught them - so they come back and clean it up before you have the chance to do it yourself.”

“Hanji,” I sigh. “I wish you could hear how ridiculous you sound. Honestly - ”

“Just think about it! I mean, it’s the most logical explanation  _ I  _ can think of.”

I couldn’t argue that, nor could I come up with a better answer, but I was still skeptical. Every customer I had the displeasure of meeting seemed to hate that they had to give an eighteen year old their money - I couldn’t fathom the idea of one of them  _ helping _ me. Nevertheless, I ran with her theory. Sometimes that was the easiest thing to do - and occasionally she actually ended up being right. “What do you propose I do, then?” I asked. “I can’t have someone breaking into my place at night and wreaking havoc while I sleep, however well-intentioned they may be.”

“Good question,” She replied, and was quiet for a moment until another invisible light bulb appeared over her head. “You could leave them a note! They’re bound to see it if they come back - and if they don’t answer, then you know they haven’t come back and there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Foolproof plan,” I muttered under my breath. “What would I even write? ‘Thanks for fixing my flowers and fucking my shop up’?”

“You have  _ such  _ a way with words, you know that?” She teased as she tore a sheet of paper out of the spiral notebook she seemed to have with her at all times. “I don’t know, it’s your note. Maybe just a simple ‘thanks’ - you know, less is more and all.”

Taking her advice, I took the pencil I’d been fiddling with and scrawled out a neatly written ‘thanks’ onto the paper. It didn’t much matter what I wrote, I figured, as long as it got the point across. After we both agreed it was an acceptable note, I taped it to the inside of the front-door. They’d have to be inside to write a response.

 

 

I didn’t think much about it for the rest of the day. It didn’t cross my mind once, until I caught a glimpse of the paper flapping as I closed the shop up for the night.  _ It’s a pointless gesture, _ I decided as I locked and bolted the door.  _ It’s meaningless.  _

“Isn’t this stupid?” I asked aloud, half to myself and half to Toby. “I never thought I’d say it, but I wish rude customers were the only thing I had to worry about right now. But here I am, having to clean up after a ‘kind stranger.’ Ironic, right?.”

If he could speak, he would’ve probably given me some wise words of encouragement, but instead he only looked up at me with his brown eyes and let out a yawn. “Yeah, me too,” I replied as I took him into my arms and carried him upstairs. My apartment felt a little less lonely with him there to keep my company. I felt a little less lonely, too, in an strange and unsettling sort of way. 

Even if it felt less lonely, it still felt just as empty without Mom making dinner in the warm yellow light of the kitchen, humming a soft tune and telling me about some new recipe she found. It was silent, save for the usual car-honking and occasional shouting that came with living downtown. Silent and empty and lonely and  _ wrong _ .

I thought I was good at handling grief - but really, I’m just good at repressing emotions. Where there should have been tears and screaming and endless sorrow, I found emptiness and hollow feelings of regret and guilt. I’d shed one or two,  _ maybe _ three tears since she died. I shed a fourth when I caught Toby whining and sniffing under what was - or what used to be - her bedroom door. And then a fifth slipped out, and then a sixth, and then I quit counting because it’s hard to cry and count at the same time.

“C’mon, don’t do that,” I pleaded in a choked voice as I pulled him from the door. “Let’s get some sleep.”

I felt like a kid again, laying in bed crying into pillow with a dog at my feet. Though I was technically a legal adult, I sure as hell didn’t feel like one. As it turned out, graduating high school didn’t magically transform you into an upstanding middle aged adult with everything figured out. In fact, it seemed like I had even less figured out than ever. Every day something new came up, something I didn’t know how to handle, something I didn’t have answers for, or worse - something there were  _ no  _ answers to. The latter seemed to be happening more and more the past few days.

I could only hope the unanswerable questions would eventually answer themselves.

 

 

I woke up the next day at noon the next day with a lovely post-crying hangover. For some reason, my body decided the best way to deal with sadness was to stop functioning and shut down for fourteen hours. There are worse ways to deal with grief, I guess, but sleeping for absurd amounts of time is a pretty damn terrible coping mechanism. It left me with a splitting headache and persistent aching, both of which made me want to jump off my balcony.

After a shower and a mad search for tylenol, I grabbed the leash and headed downstairs to take Toby for his afternoon walk before opening the store. The place was as it had been yesterday, in perfect condition. It could’ve been my eyes playing tricks on me, but I could’ve sworn the shelves had been dusted and floors swept. It was unnerving. A relief, sure, but still unnerving given the circumstances.

I only remembered the note as I went to unlock the door. My heart skipped a beat when I noticed the sloppily written message under mine. The reply was small and especially difficult to read in my half-asleep state, but after a moment of squinting, I managed to make it out.

_ “you’re welcome and sorry about the mess' _

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> every chapter i write ends up looking shorter after i post it than it did when i was writing it... oh well, hope y'all liked it anyway. i'm a little behind on my writing so i'm not sure when the next chapter will be done, but i'll try to have it done by next thursday - maybe sooner. 
> 
> also, i made some art for this fic over on my tumblr. so go check that out if you wanna.
> 
> thanks for reading, as usual !

**Author's Note:**

> hey, thanks for reading. this chapter will likely be the shortest of the whole fic - it's just a sort of introduction to get the ball rolling. nonetheless, i hope you enjoyed it, and i hope you'll stick around for the rest. i'll be writing my chapters a few chapters in advance, and chapter 2 will be posted thursday night. 
> 
> as usual, comments are appreciated, as are bookmarks and kudos. comments are what keep me writing.
> 
> p.s... my tumblr is erelie.tumblr.com. i'll be posting occasional fic-related things there, and if you'd like to send me a message then feel free to suggest things or tell me your headcanons. i'm open to any and all ideas, so don't hesitate to offer yours!


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